


Barroom Heroine

by DChan87



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alcohol, Bar Room Brawl, F/M, Humor, Rivalry, Tavern, action girl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 17:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3777220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DChan87/pseuds/DChan87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur gets himself into trouble when Guinevere, pushed on by alcohol, picks a fight with one of his rivals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barroom Heroine

**Author's Note:**

> _Face down in the gutter won’t admit defeat_  
>  Though ~~his~~ her clothes are soiled and black  
>  (S)he’s a big, strong ~~man~~ lass with a childs mind  
>  Don’t you take ~~his~~ her booze away!

Arthur could face down Saxon and Caledonian barbarians. He’d faced men much larger than him in the practice ring and on the battlefield. To say he was afraid of no man was an understatement. Despite his young age and small, but fit frame, he could beat their arse so hard they’d regret ever crossing the man who wants to be King of the Britons.

However, he’d rather not start a fight. Especially in a tavern full of drunken warriors and travelers. Too bad his companion, Gyanhumara, or Gwenhwyfar in his native tongue, was itching for one.

“Och, you’re daft if you think you could beat _me_!” The firey Caledonian chieftainess spat, staring into the eyes of one of Arthur’s rivals sitting at the bar of the tavern. The rival looked at her derisively, as if he did not think she was a threat.

“Arthur, where did you find this pagan wench?” the rival laughed. “I knew you were desperate for allies, but I didn’t know you were _that_ desperate!”

“Listen, Gwen,” Arthur pleaded, ignoring the rival and gripping the young chieftainess’s shoulders. “Let’s not be too daft and get into trouble.”

“Listen, we may be allies, but you don’t tell me what to do!” Gwen spat, the smell of Caledonian ale on her breath, and her attitude matching her red hair.

“I hate these places,” he whispered to himself.

“Listen, laddie,” she said, poking the rival warlord’s Romani chestplate, “If you think you can insult me just because I follow the Old Ones or that I’m a lass, you’re more daft than Merlin is!”

“So, did Merlin conjure her up?” the rival laughed. “What a sorry excuse for a sorcerer!”

“Her clan is allies with mine,” said Arthur. “And she agreed to help us against the Saxons. Let us depart Gwen, I would rather pick my battles.”

“Are you a coward?” she asked.

“I said I would rather pick my battles,” said Arthur. “There is a book I have read by an Oriental man, I believe his name is Sun Tzu, that advises any intelligent military man to pick his battles. I would recommend it, it’s very informative.”

“I have no time for philosophizin’,” she said, making Arthur wonder where she came up with _that_ word. Must have been the alcohol.

“Listen, Claudius,” Arthur said, pulling the stubborn chieftainess away from his rival, “I would love to stay and chat, but we must be going now—” Something was standing in his way behind him, so he looked behind him and saw a larger man, presumably Scoti, glaring down at him. “Apparently, we are staying.”

“Meet Fergus,” said Claudius. “He’s my ally. And a better one than your ‘wee lass’.”

Gwen shouted something in her native tongue at Claudius, an obvious insult just from the way her tone sounded. Claudius didn’t hesitate to smack her hard.

“That should put you in your place,” he said.

“Oh, dear,” said Arthur.

Gwen wound up her fist and punched Claudius so hard he staggered backwards until he crashed into one of the tables. The minstrels, who had been playing a nice, relaxing tune, began to play a hearty tune as the tavern descended into violence. The Scoti man lunged for Arthur, but the young Brythonic warlord ducked underneath him and flipped him over, placing his boot on the man’s chest and sitting down at the bar. “Give me ale,” he said. “NOW.”

The bartender simply nodded as Arthur watched Gwen fight off ten other pagans like they were clay pots. A smile stretched on his lips, admiring this fiery woman who did not let anyone dictate her fate to her, roaring in her native tongue and shouting her clan’s battle creed.

It only made him fall deeper in love with her.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to "Pride in Her Bruises", where we see just how Guinevere/Gwenhwyfar/Gyanhumara got her bruises. Thanks to this one book I'm reading, I like to imagine her as a fiery Scottish lass with a short temper who could not only kick your arse, but drink you under the table.


End file.
